


Dude, My Roommate SUCKS...

by OriginalCeenote



Series: Dormitory Rules [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Dorm Mates, Brock Rumlow is a Bad Bro, Bucky Needs to Tuck Steve In, College AU, Dorm Room Hookups, Hello Kitty blankets, M/M, Natasha Romanoff is a Good Bro, New Crush, No Sex, Skinny!Steve, Steve Rogers Needs to Sleep, The Author Is An Awful Person, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tumblr otpprompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 14:56:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalCeenote/pseuds/OriginalCeenote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr otpprompt, Person A and Person B have both been kicked out of their dorms by their roommates – who both are having sex, either separately or with each other – and have to stand awkwardly out in the hall with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dude, My Roommate SUCKS...

**Author's Note:**

> It's been forever since I went to college, but I can relate to this on SO many levels.

Steve slowed his steps as he reached his dorm room door, feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket. He shuffled his backpack and art portfolio as he scrambled and rummaged to take it out, and he stared down at the screen, cursing under his breath.

_got company. Lisa from Accounting class. :) Don't come in yet_

"Seriously?" Steve growled under his breath, texting back furiously.

_Dude, I haven't even set my stuff down yet! I'm bushed, and I have an early class._

He wondered how Sam even knew he was finished studying. He watched the little text message bubble pulsing as Sam was typing.

_Clint told me you were on your way back._

"Why??" Steve typed and muttered.

_Cuz I told him too. Help a brother out, man. Homegirl's HOT._

"Clint, you're SO dead," Steve muttered.

Steve only told Clint goodbye fifteen minutes ago before he left the library. The cocky kinesiology major was flirting with Natasha from the first floor’s women’s wing by the copier when he’d been on his way out, completely enthralled, and Steve wondered when he had the presence of mind to even text Sam.

Steve sighed. _Please don’t tell me you’re gonna be with her all night… _ He watched the pulsing bubble for twenty seconds, slumping against the wall and dropping his backpack.

_I’ll totally do you a solid next time. Promise. Just GIVE ME THIS, PLS!!!_

Steve scrubbed his palm over his face. His eyes were burning with exhaustion. “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered. He leaned back against the wall and slammed his fist against it in frustration.

He couldn’t really blame Sam, if he was honest. Women loved him. Of _course_ he would have company. But it would be nice if he could save it for the weekends when Steve went home to do his laundry…

Steve considered his options. Out of morbid curiosity, knowing full well that he would regret it, he wandered up to his dorm room and leaned his good ear against the door. Feminine giggles, low soul music and the faint creak of mattress springs drifted out to him, and Steve cringed.

"Great," he mouthed as he doubled back the way that he came, resenting what his ears couldn't unhear. He scanned the hall and decided to retreat to the study lounge on his floor for a minute, at least to set his stuff down.

*

Bucky despised Brock's girlfriend. Annoying voice, annoying habit of sending Brock selfies every ten minutes, always sat at Bucky's desk or on his bed whenever she visited with _no regard_ for barriers or personal space, and she wore way too much perfume. Raven was pretty until she opened her mouth, an unkind way to think of her, surely, but Bucky cringed every time she spoke.

"My roommate Irene's brother's girlfriend has that shirt," she informed him one night when he walked in on Raven and Brock making out. "Did you get that at Target?"

"I don't remember," he lied, noticing that there was a hint of amused disgust in her tone, indicating that a) she was shaming him for wearing a _girl's shirt_ , even though he got it in the men's section, thank-you-very-much, and b) Raven had shopping habits that involved tags with the original price and frowning, constipated models on the catalog covers. Bucky didn't have the time or tolerance for spoiled people.

Raven, at the moment, was crowding his roommate, sinking down onto his lap with a telling glance that triggered every alarm in Bucky's head. She was giving him that little forehead bump and goo-goo eyes, and Bucky scanned the dorm room quickly for his keys and wallet, cramming his feet into his slip-on Vans. Brock glanced up at him with interest.

"Where ya headed?" Bucky shrugged.

"I dunno. Just... out." Brock beamed.

"Bring back some toothpaste? We're out." Bucky hadn't planned to go any further than the ground floor's game room, but now his roomie was giving him an errand. Raven was staring at him with the clear message, _Just leave already_ radiating from her dark eyes.

"I'm on it," Bucky assured him with a little salute and a brittle smile. Raven narrowed her eyes at him; he squinted back, but Brock was oblivious. "Later, guys."

"Oh, dude, wait!" Brock shimmied out from under Raven, almost dumping her off his lap just as Bucky was halfway out the door, anxious to go. "Here, take this." He also leaned out the door, peering back over his shoulder and grabbing Bucky by his sleeve. He handed him a couple of dollars, which Bucky certainly wouldn't refuse. "Bro," he whispered loudly, "got any supplies?"

"Any... wait? What?" Then it dawned on Bucky. "Oh. Uh... top drawer of my desk. Make sure they aren't expired," he said in a low voice. "I haven't looked at them for a while-" Brock's face lit up before he cut him off with a good-natured punch in the chest.

"You rock. You're the man. I owe you."

"Sooooo... you gonna... y'know? Be... a while?" Brock shrugged, nodding, making a come-see, come-saw gesture with his hand.

"See ya tomorrow." Brock retreated back into their dorm and slammed the door. That left Bucky's night sorted.

“Fuck me," Bucky murmured under his breath as he retreated. Hearing Raven's obnoxious giggle through the door made him grit his teeth. He contemplated his options and the lateness of the hour. The RA's were wandering the halls innocently enough, but he knew they were enforcing "quiet hours" and making sure no one was smoking in the stairwells, blasting their music or sneaking beer inside. Bucky nodded to Bruce as he came out of the rest room. He was the oldest RA in the tower and was relatively mellow, but there was no putting one over on him if you had guests that weren't signed in for the night or if you looked - or smelled - noticeably intoxicated. Bruce was pre-med and a matriculating transfer student and lived like a hermit. Bucky frequently saw him at the library and hardly ever saw him at the bars. Bruce had a soft smile and big, sad brown eyes, but looks could be deceiving; when fights broke out in the corridors or common rooms, Bruce merely waded in and hauled them apart, at times holding the more aggressive one face flattened against the wall if they were about to do any real damage. His compact frame moved with surprising grace and strength.

He eyed Bucky as he walked past. “Brock kick you out?”

“Ehhhh…” Bucky made a face. “He’s got company.” Bruce checked his watch.

“If you need a place to hang out, you can take my room for a while? It’s my turn for the shift at the front desk.” The resident advisor desk kept it staffed until three AM, to keep track of straggling guests during the wee hours.

“That’s okay, man. ‘Preciate it, though.”

“Hey. My offer stands. You know where to find me.” Bruce had his own room, one of the benefits of being a resident advisor, and Bucky knew he was living his own life all wrong. If he’d known the kind of roommate he would end up with when he filled out his preference card before orientation, he might have chosen his answers differently. To Brock’s credit, that first week hadn’t been bad at all.

They low-fived a hello on move-in day, and Bucky noticed with approval that his CDs were mostly music that he liked almost as much himself, that his posters on his side of the wall weren’t too obnoxious, and he wasn’t sickeningly neat, so Brock made no judgments if Bucky’s bed wasn’t made or if his laundry bag began to overflow onto the floor before he washed a load or two. Brock’s friends… well, Bucky could stand to see a little less of them. They’d gotten the drop on him more than once on the campus lawn between dorm towers with their Super Soaker guns, not a big deal if he wasn’t on the way to his job at the library, or if he hadn’t just put product in his hair.

But then Brock hooked up with Raven one night at a mixer after flirting with her in cheesy fashion for two hours, and suddenly she _would never leave._ Her friend Irene wasn’t too bad, one of the oldest girls living in the dorms, and she wasn’t above busting anyone with a noise complaint if they played their music too loud, but at least she was civil to Bucky.

Bucky decided to walk to the convenience store instead of taking his car, not trusting anyone to sneak into his parking space on a night like tonight, when a lot of people were going out, or in Raven’s case, invading the dorms and taking up space. He nodded to the bored-looking clerk who was flipping through an issue of _Lowrider_ magazine before he perused the toiletry aisle. Bucky grabbed two tubes of toothpaste – might as well, he was running low, too – a tin of Carmex lip balm, a pair of nail clippers and a mini-pack of Kleenex. He was about to grab a Gatorade from the fridge, but his eyes landed on the protection items. Next to the Trojans were packets of lube. Bucky didn’t have a plus-one yet, even though his social life was relatively active since he transferred to the university from his JC. But there was nothing wrong with being prepared… and during his alone time, it was just _nice_. A small box of Trojans joined the pile that he deposited on the counter. The clerk set down his book and rung him up, raising one brow briefly at the condoms and slick. Bucky had taken out a twenty from his wallet and was about to slide it across the counter until the total flashing on the register screen showed him he was a dollar and change short.

“Geez,” he muttered as he crammed it back into his billfold.

“We take debit, sir.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Bucky assured him. Brock could pick up his own damn toothpaste – and his own _supplies_ \- next time, Bucky thought sourly. He chugged his Gatorade on the way back, stopping back at his car to put the Kleenex into the glove compartment along with the Carmex. No sense in walking around with a whole bag of junk if he could avoid it. Bucky had once been the unfortunate, captive audience one night when Brock snuck Raven in after hours, thinking Bucky was asleep. Raven’s drunken giggles tugged him from a shallow sleep, and he spent the rest of the night with his head buried under the covers and facing the wall, wishing more than anything for ear plugs and knock-out drops.

Bucky wandered back into the dorms for a minute, and he noticed scrawny little Steve Rogers pacing the corridor for a minute, hovering by his dorm’s door. Bucky huffed, frowning. He almost never saw that guy outside of his room, he was so quiet, and he was always working on something at the arts building, anyway. Bucky decided to leave him alone, and he approached his own door, leaning in ever so slightly.

“ _Nnnnnnggghhh… oh, God, Brock… c’mon, baby…_ ” 

Bucky lurched back from the door, ready to rip his ears off. _Gross,_ he mouthed to himself, nixing the idea of dropping off the rest of the stuff in the room before making himself scarce for the rest of the night. He visibly shuddered in distaste.

“You get kicked out, too?” The deep male voice took Bucky by surprise. He whirled around toward it, wondering if he’d been caught talking to himself.

“Your roomie hooking up, too?” Steve reiterated, looking sheepish but knowing. Bucky’s lips twitched, and he edged away from the door, closing the gap between them a little.

“Dude… she’s so _loud._ ” Steve made a face.

“Raven? Raven Darkholme?”

“You know her?”

“God, I can’t stand her. She’s in my Art History 1A,” Steve complained. “She’s so annoying, and she just spends the whole class making dumb observations instead of actually studying the material.”

“How dumb are we talking?”

“We were studying fertility figures. You know, those chubby goddess figurines carved out of limestone from, like before the stone ages? During the slide presentation, Raven interrupted it to tell the professor that women back then ate too many carbs.” Bucky facepalmed, shaking his head.

“Wow.”

“Yeah. My opinions aren’t too high.”

“What’re you even doing out here? I never see you up this late,” Bucky mentioned. Steve greeted the question with a heavy sigh.

“Sam has _company._ ”

“Ahhhhh…” Bucky nodded sagely. “Of _course_ he does.”

“I’ve got an early class tomorrow,” Steve complained. “This whole development kinda sucks.”

“Have you even had a break?” Steve looked beat. The short blond shook his head, taking his glasses off to wipe off the lenses on his light gray, long-sleeved polo.

“I just got back from the library. I went straight there after my classes were over. All I had was a bagel for dinner.”

“I’d be starving by now on that,” Bucky told him, tsking. “Don’t let him drive you out if you’re that tired, Rogers.”

“What about you?” Bucky was about to argue, then sighed.

“Right. I know. This sucks. I just… y’know? Why poke the beast?”

“Are you calling Brock’s girlfriend a beast?” Steve’s eyes crinkled when he smiled.

They were nice eyes.

*

They ended up in the rec room down on the first floor, Bucky’s original goal, but only after he convinced Steve to come with him to the women’s wing. Steve’s eyes were flitting around nervously, and he looked like he was trying to shrink in on himself at the sight of so many young women in pajama bottoms and camisoles, boxers and nightshirts. Bucky knocked soundly on the third door on the right. He heard Nat inside turning down her Iggy Azalea Pandora station before she answered. She leaned her head out the door, saucy sheaves of red hair hanging down around her face. “What’s up?” she demanded. “Hey,” she told Steve, “you’re never up at this hour.”

“Yeah. Funny story. Roommate’s got company.”

“Ahhhhhh…” She grinned and nodded knowingly. “Knockin’ boots, huh?” She turned to Bucky, ignoring Steve’s blush. “What’s wrong with you? I thought you said you were turning in early. I stayed in because you flaked on me, Chicken Legs.” Steve’s brows rose. _Chicken Legs?_ he mouthed. Nat grinned, then pushed herself through the doorway, flapping her bent arms. “Buck-buck-BUCKOCKKK!” Bucky savagely shushed her, completely mortified. She looked too pleased with herself.

“So, what’s the deal, then?”

“Just wanted a place to hang out.”

“Carol and I are doing our nails. I just finished a ten-page term paper for Poli-Sci. Sucked.”

“I’ll do your nails, Bucky!” Carol called around the edge of the door.

“Uhhhh, yeah- _no_.”

“Got a spare pillow? And a blanket?”

“Why?”

“Steve’s tired,” Bucky told her.

“What? No, don’t… don’t worry about-“ Natasha’s eyes widened in understanding. 

“Awwww. Poor baby. Hold on.” She ducked back into her room and grabbed two pillows off her bed and a fuzzy, purple throw blanket printed with Hello Kitty. “Take these. Just bring them back tomorrow. You can camp out in the TV lounge. Should be pretty empty. The game’s already over.” She tucked the bedding items into Bucky’s arms. “Next time, don’t flake on me!” She gave him a little kick in the shins, and he kicked her back, but Natasha got him last, stuck out her tongue, and slammed the door on them both.

“Thanks,” Steve called in to her through the door. “That was… nice, I guess?”

“She’s awesome. A pain in my ass, but she’s a sweetheart,” Bucky told him as he led the way down the hall to the stairwell. They ran into Clint there, where he was sneaking a smoke and evading Bruce.

“Hey, thanks for being Sam’s lookout, asshole,” Steve scolded. Clint shrugged but looked suitably shamed.

“Sorry, man. Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do, and I don’t get in the way of true love.”

“Love,” Steve snorted. “Is that what they’re calling it nowadays?”

“Eh. I’d want someone to do the same thing for me,” Clint reasoned. “Got kicked out, though, huh.”

“You _suck_ , Barton.” Steve and Bucky made their way down the rest of the stairs. 

“Should’ve watched the game with us, Barnes!” Clint called after them. 

“I hate the Jets,” Bucky argued back. “Later, man.”

“You _wound me,_ bro!” Clint’s voice was muffled by the door swinging shut after them as Steve and Bucky emerged in the hall. They ran into Bruce, who beckoned to them.

“Seen Barton?”

“Stairwell,” Steve deadpanned. Bucky elbowed him as Bruce hurried off.

“That’s harsh.”

“I’m stranded outside my room while Sam’s putting the moves on a girl that he probably won’t call.”

“At least Raven isn’t camping out in your room,” Bucky reminded him. They headed into the TV lounge, and the couch was empty. Rhodey, the only other guy named James in their building who also refused to go by his first name, nodded to them from the ottoman as he flipped channels.

“The cable here is shitty,” he informed them. “Can’t get half the channels I have at home.”

“Get Netflix on your laptop,” Bucky suggested.

“Can’t afford it yet. I didn’t get as much aid this year as I will next year when my folks can’t claim me.” Rhodey settled on an episode of Key and Peele that Steve had already seen, but they settled in on the couch anyway. They took opposite ends of the long sofa, and Steve took off his sneakers, leaving his socks on, and he spread the blanket over his lap. 

“Want half?” he offered to Bucky.

“I’m not that cold. But get comfortable.”

“What’s up? You get kicked out of your room?” Rhodey’s grin was lopsided.

“He’s not the only one,” Bucky told him. Rhodey chuckled.

“I’m going out in a few once Tony’s done typing his paper. We don’t have any classes tomorrow.”

“Sweet.” Bucky was envious. His classes were so spread out throughout the week that he never had a whole free day, and since he was an engineering major, half his classes also had labs.

“Nice blanket,” Rhodey joked to Steve.

“Hey, this is a very manly blanket, I’ll have you know,” Steve claimed, lowering his voice dramatically and giving him a deadpan look. Bucky handed him one of the pillows and took the other for himself, tucking it under his neck.

They watched Key and Peele, snickering over the wrongness of it and turning the volume down slightly when Ed, one of the second floor RA’s, popped his head in to let them know that quiet hours were in effect. The three of them looked up when Tony showed up, decked out in a snug tee, leather jacket and skinny jeans. He reeked of Axe spray and his goatee was shaved in a funny shape, but Tony made it work.

“What’re you still doing here, Rhodey? Time and good alcohol’s a-wasting.” He gave Steve and Bucky a casual wave. “Locked out, huh?”

“What gave it away?”

“That blanket. It’s nice, though. Pepper has one like that with Chocokat.” He pointed with little shooty fingers. “Get that beauty rest, boys. Don’t wait up.”

“Later,” Rhodey told them easily, tossing the remote onto Bucky’s lap as they left.

“Really questioning the wisdom of borrowing Nat’s blanket,” Steve muttered.

“Why? It’s cute. It looks warm.”

“It _is_ warm,” he admitted. “It’s soft, too. Feel it.” He handed Bucky the corner of the throw, and Bucky squeezed the soft, fuzzy loft of the purple fleece.

“Wow. That’s nice. Second thought, pass some of that over here.” Steve chuckled and moved in toward him on the couch, almost in the middle, and Bucky sidled up to him, tucking himself in. 

The two of them watched another epi of Key and Peele, then switched to Adult Swim, deciding on Robot Chicken and watching three of them in a row to kill time. Steve’s lids were heavy, and he periodically reached up to rub his eyes from behind his glasses.

“Are you nearsighted or farsighted?”

“Nearsighted, and I can’t see shit.”

“Can’t wear contacts?”

“I hate how they feel, and they give me a headache.” Steve paused to clean them on his shirt again, but Bucky held out his hand.

“Can I try them?”

“Knock yourself out.” He handed them to him gingerly, and Bucky carefully took them by the bridge, not by the stems, so they wouldn’t get bent out of shape. He eased them on, and jerked back in surprise as the world around him suddenly zoomed up in front of his face in blurry, almost painful detail.

“Wow. Shit. You really _can’t_ see.”

“Told you.”

“How long have you needed them?”

“Since kindergarten. It sucked. Ma kept punishing me for losing them, until she found out the kids at school kept stealing ‘em.” Bucky frowned, and Steve noticed how big Bucky’s eyes looked from behind the lenses, like a pair of opals.

“Why’d they steal ‘em?”

“Because they could. I was always this short.”

“None of the teachers ever noticed you were coming back to class without your glasses?”

“By the time they noticed, my glasses were usually toast,” he said grimly, holding out his hand for Bucky to return them. The fingertips grazed briefly as he gave them back. “I don’t mind ‘em that much anymore.” He settled back against the couch, working out a crick in his neck and folding his pillow. “Chicks actually dig ‘em.”

“Do they get you phone numbers?”

“Nah. They just ask me where I got the frames.” Steve wrinkled his nose. Bucky smirked. Then he noticed that Steve kept fidgeting.

“What’s wrong?”

“My back’s tweaked. My bed’s not much better. I don’t think I’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep since I got here.”

“Wanna stretch out?” Bucky offered. “Speak up if you’re feeling crummy, Steve. I can get out of the way.”

“I don’t want you to. You’re not _in_ my way. I’m just… beat. That’s all.”

“Well, stretch out. If you nod off like that, you’re gonna get a crick in your neck and be miserable.” Bucky moved all the way to the end of the couch. “Go ahead.”

In a move that he wasn’t expecting, Bucky watched Steve unbunch his pillow and scooch toward the opposite side of the couch at first, then lay himself down so his head was just centimeters from Bucky’s thigh, then plopped his pillow on Bucky’s lap. He burrowed his head into the pillow with a ragged sigh of relief. “God, I need to lay down.”

“Just… make yourself right at home,” Bucky murmured, amused. “Okay. Comfy, Rogers?”

“Now I am,” he assured him, yawning. “And this actually IS more comfortable than my bed.” Bucky, as a reflex, reached down and raised the edge of the blanket up over Steve’s shoulders, patting it into place.

On the one hand, okay. This was weird. It wasn’t every day that a random guy that Bucky hardly knew just crawled into his lap for a nap, practically using him as a futon.

On the other hand… it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t really bad at all.

Steve didn’t even weigh a buck-and-a-half. He smelled nice, not drowning in body spray, and Bucky caught a whiff of his shampoo and fabric softener. He felt warm and limp across his lap, and Bucky had a weakness for blonds. 

He was cute. Bucky hadn’t noticed before how strong his bone structure was, or the soft curve of his mouth. Bucky was open about his preferences, and he was more or less “taking applications.” Natasha was his partner in crime when they went out, and she had an annoying habit of trying to set him up and playing wing man. But she meant well. 

Steve’s eyes drifted shut, but he sleepily tucked the edge of the blanket in around Bucky’s lap. Bucky’s arm drifted down to snuggle Steve in its crook before he could ask himself how weird it would be. His fingers toyed with the hem of the ridiculous purple blanket as he listened to Steve breathe. If he had to be honest, this was the kind of thing he wanted. Not going out and playing beer pong until he puked, not random hook-ups, not huddling around a packed, sticky table in a bar slamming shots of Jaeger or wondering whose hands were grabbing his ass when he went out to dance on a crowded floor.

Just this. Someone like Steve. Calm. Quiet. Funny. Cuddly. And just forward enough to catch his attention.

He pondered the possibilities as he watched Aqua Teen Hunger Force and glanced down once in a while to see Steve drooling into Natasha’s pillow.


End file.
